


The Situation

by whichclothes



Series: Jobverse [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-16
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 11:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Defense Mechanisms. Spike and Riley offer one another advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for [](http://angelus2hot.livejournal.com/profile)[**angelus2hot**](http://angelus2hot.livejournal.com/)  for the [](http://nekid-spike.livejournal.com/profile)[**nekid_spike**](http://nekid-spike.livejournal.com/)  fic/art exchange, She wanted Spike/Riley or Spike/Angel (and here's some of both), with romance, fluff, or humor and without abuse, torture, or rape. This is a sequel to [The Job](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/156098.html) and [Defense Mechanisms](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/158738.html) but can be read on its own. It takes place during AtS S5, and Riley Finn has been hired to supervise security for Wolfram & Hart. Many thanks to my lovely beta, [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  , who also greatly improved the ending!

_**The Situation (1 of 2)**_  
 **Title:** The Situation  
 **Part:** 1 of 2  
 **Pairing:** Spike/Riley, Spike/Angel  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer** : I'm not Joss  
 **Summary:** Spike and Riley offer one another advice..  
 **Author's Notes:** This fic is for [](http://angelus2hot.livejournal.com/profile)[**angelus2hot**](http://angelus2hot.livejournal.com/)   for the [](http://nekid-spike.livejournal.com/profile)[**nekid_spike**](http://nekid-spike.livejournal.com/)   fic/art exchange, She wanted Spike/Riley or Spike/Angel (and here's some of both), with romance, fluff, or humor and without abuse, torture, or rape. This is a sequel to [The Job](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/156098.html) and [Defense Mechanisms](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/158738.html) but can be read on its own. It takes place during AtS S5, and Riley Finn has been hired to supervise security for Wolfram & Hart. Many thanks to my lovely beta, [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  , who also greatly improved the ending!

Posted in 2 parts for length.

 **  
The Situation   
**

“I’ve been thinking about your situation.”

Spike quickly minimized the Word document he’d been working on and looked up from his computer screen. Riley Finn had appeared in his doorway and was leaning against the doorframe. Riley’s suit jacket was folded over one arm and his blue and gray tie had been loosened a bit.

“My situation?” Spike asked.

“Yeah. This…thing.” Riley gestured vaguely with his free arm.

“I haven’t any idea what you’re on about.”

“Your…. Let’s go talk about it over drinks.”

That made Spike grin widely. Their last talk over drinks had ended with Spike in Riley’s bed, and Riley’s first experience—well, _experiences_ , to be precise—having sex with a bloke. But that had been over two weeks ago, and then Spike had been injured in a fight with a big nest of vamps in Long Beach, and by the time he’d mended properly Riley had been eyeballs deep in some kind of project involving increasing security in the building. So Spike had barely seen Riley in the interim, and he had been wondering whether the former soldier was having regrets. An offer for drinks suggested not.

Spike quickly made sure his document was saved, then shut the computer down. He grabbed his duster from the back of the small sofa and followed Riley out the door and down the empty, twisting hallway. Harmony and Spike’s scary secretary, Mrs. Goularte, had gone for the day, but a light still burned in Angel’s office. “Ponce thinks he’ll earn redemption by signing paperwork,” Spike muttered as they walked past. “You’re the bloke with the fancy head-shrinking degree. Shouldn’t you tell him he’s delusional?”

“He’s not.”

They stepped into the elevator. “Now he’s fooled you as well?” Spike asked. “Convinced you the road to heaven is paved with contracts? Folie a deux, innit?”

“Nah. I don’t think that and neither does he. It’s just— Sometimes a guy feels pretty powerless, right? Like the whole world’s stacked against him. And then he looks for something, _anything_ he can do, even if he knows it won’t work. Gives a feeling of control.” Riley shrugged. “Human nature.”

“He’s not human.”

“Close enough.”

Down in the garage, there were a few minutes of indecision over which car to take. Riley had his vehicle parked there, an SUV that was more business than flash. Spike didn’t have a car of his own, actually, but he could nick one of Angel’s. Like that lovely ’58 Aston Martin, a vision in bright red, with a long, low front end. “This one,” Spike said, opening the driver’s side door—which was on the proper side of the car for once—and climbing on in. Riley got into the passenger side with a bit of difficulty. The car wasn’t really a good fit for a big bloke like him.

“I get to pick the bar this time,” Riley said as Spike pulled out onto the street.

“Fine.”

Riley gave directions and Spike headed west, out towards Santa Monica. He turned the radio on and fiddled a bit with the dial, trying to find a good station.

“It’s a nice car,” Riley observed, running his hand over the dashboard.

“Poof just bought it.”

“Really? Doesn’t seem like his kind of car.”

Spike shrugged. “I expect he fancies himself James Bond when he drives it.”

“Hmm.”

“So…my situation…?”

“Once we get some booze in us, Spike.”

Riley’s bar was called Morocco, which it didn’t in the least resemble. But it was a nice place, posh, with twinkling white lights at an outdoor seating area overlooking the water, and pretty young people chatting and laughing in the comfortably cushioned chairs. Their waitress was pretty and young as well; her blonde hair might have been natural but her tits mostcertainly were not. Her teeth were extremely white and shiny.

“Nobody looked like that when I was human,” Spike said after she had taken their orders. “Not even the wealthy—they had horrid teeth, awful skin.”

“You don’t,” Riley responded with a smile.

Spike smiled back. “Well, I have always been a paragon of male beauty.”

The waitress returned a moment later with draft beer for Riley and whiskey for Spike. “Might as well bring the bottle, love,” he said to her.

“I’ll just be real sure and keep a close eye on you two, make sure you stay topped up.” She had dimples. She didn’t seem to mind as Spike downed his drink in one go and then handed her the empty glass. “Be right back!” she said.

Spike settled back in his chair and looked about. “You come here often?”

“Nope. I had a lunch meeting here last week, in the restaurant part, with some guy who claimed he could get me the Kevlar vests I want. I thought it’d be a nice place to come back to at night.”

“Romantic?” Spike asked, one eyebrow raised.

Riley just grinned and sipped his beer. “I hear you and Angel kicked some demon ass the other day.”

“Wasn’t anything big. Just a few Fendlars in Glendale. Nasty things, like giant rats, with fangs sharper than mine. But not very bright. I expect Angel could have sorted them himself. Dunno why he dragged me along.”

“Hmm,” Riley said again, and smiled at the waitress when she set Spike’s refill on the table. “That’s the situation I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“Fendlars?”

“No, stupid. Angel.”

Spike blinked at him for a moment before realization hit him, and then he groaned. “You still think the two of us are madly in love. I’ve told you, that’s rubbish. We can’t stand each other.”

“Uh-huh. That’s why you stuck around the firm even when you didn’t have to. That’s why he invited you along to help him fight demons he could whip himself, and why he bought a car you love but that he probably barely fits into. And I saw the look on his face after the Simmons-Earl thing, when we showed up at that shack and you were practically dust.”

Spike swallowed his second whiskey. “I don’t know why you insist on having this argument again. Can’t we just go back to your place and shag?”

“We’re not going anywhere until you listen to me.”

The man seemed quite serious about the whole thing, so Spike sighed and handed his glass to the waitress. “Right then. You natter, I listen, _then_ we shag. After all, you haven’t really explored the possibilities of gay sex yet.” He frowned. “Unless in the past two weeks—”

“Don’t worry,” Riley laughed. “I have not been whoring myself around lately.”

Spike shouldn’t have cared who the bloke fucked—they weren’t a couple, after all—but he was still relieved. “Fine. Spit it out and then let’s go.”

Riley wasn’t perturbed by Spike’s demeanor. He looked relaxed, one big arm draped over the arm of his chair, one hand wrapped loosely around his moisture-coated beer glass. “Okay. So you and Angel care about each other but you’re both too damn pig-headed to admit it, even to each other. And that’s bad.”

“Not saying you’re right, mind you, but even if he and I were hopelessly devoted, what would be the harm in ignoring it? Waiting for the feeling to go away, like an embarrassing rash.”

“Couple of reasons.” Riley ticked them off on his fingers. “One, you end up with truckloads of sexual tension and you act out in unhealthy ways. Both of you. Two, it’s immature. For Christ’s sakes, the two of you have, what? Three, four hundred years between you. Isn’t that enough time to grow up?”

“Oi!”

“And three, let’s face it, we’re in a dangerous business. The odds of one of you getting dusted—for real this time—are pretty good. And then how’s the other one gonna feel, knowing what he let slip away out of pure stubbornness and stupidity?”

Spike tried to imagine what it would be like, a world without Angel in it. The feeling was…unsettling. Because from the very day Spike had risen as a vampire, Angel had been a constant. Even in the long years after Angel was cursed with a soul and before Spike had earned his, they had encountered each other now and then, sometimes in the most unlikely places, and Spike had always known that his sire was out there, somewhere on the planet. It was a bit like living under the shadow of a tall mountain, Spike reckoned. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know it was there, looming. And even if sometimes you feared the mountain might turn volcanic and rain boulders and ashes onto you, you’d still miss it if it were gone. The sky would seem far too empty without it.

Riley was right about the dangerous business bit as well, Spike acknowledged to himself. On the face of it, all was routine around Wolfram & Hart—as routine as a demonic law firm could get—but Spike had lived with impending doom before and he knew the feeling. It prickled on his skin as he walked the firm’s hallways, and it lurked somewhere, just beyond the edges of his vision. 

Riley was watching Spike closely, not saying anything, just waiting for Spike to sort his thoughts. The waitress came by again, this time with fresh drinks for them both, a plate of buffalo wings for Riley, and an attractive little wiggle to her arse as she walked away.

“Even if you’re right, college boy, what do you want me to do? Send him flowers and chocolates?”

Riley laughed. “Not quite. Couldn’t you just sit down and have an honest conversation with him?”

“No,” Spike replied with a sigh. “Can’t help it, really. As soon as I get near him I…I have to dig at him. And even when I don’t, he expects me to. Takes everything I say the wrong way.”

Riley scratched his head. “A century or so is a lot of history for two guys to have. How about…. Could you write stuff down? Let him read it?”

Spike looked away. At the next table, two boys and two girls were laughing together over some photographs. Snapshots from someone’s holiday in Hawaii. “What if he gets angry?” Spike whispered. “What if he….”

“Rejects you?”

Spike nodded, still not looking at him. “I’ve been rejected often enough. Don’t fancy any more of it.”

“That’s always a risk, I guess, when you put yourself out there. It’s happened to me, too. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”

Spike lifted his drink in a mock salute. “Ta, Ann Landers.”

They sat silently for a time after that, eating, drinking, watching the waves lap at the pier, listening to the chatter around them. But when Riley set his empty glass down, he leaned forward over the table. “You know what, Spike? If you were to offer to drive me home right now, I guarantee I wouldn’t turn you down.”

***

Riley’s bubblegum-colored bungalow was exactly the same as the first time Spike had visited, only this time there was a little pile of gay porn magazines on the table beside the bed. When Riley realized Spike had seen them, the big man blushed a bit and very clearly had to overcome the urge to shove the magazines into a drawer. “Um…research,” he said sheepishly.

“Aren’t you the model scholar?” Spike leered and pulled his t-shirt off, letting it fall negligently to the floor.

“Four point oh GPA.”

“You know, I was a good student myself, once. Read at Oxford. But perhaps I make an even better teacher.”

Riley watched as Spike continued to strip. Somehow Riley managed to look both eager and shy, which Spike had to admit was rather endearing. The flush on his face hadn’t gone away; in fact, it had intensified, the blood showing deliciously on his cheeks and down his neck. Spike licked his lips and prowled closer.

“You like what you see, soldier?” he purred.

“God, you’re perfect.”

That response made Spike smile. He grabbed Riley’s tie and used it to tug the man a bit nearer. Riley’s breath hitched a little at that, which made Spike think of loads of pleasant games they could play…but another time. 

He loosened the tie and had to reach up to slip it over Riley’s head. Then slowly, very slowly, he unfastened shirt buttons. Riley stood, passive but heart racing, as Spike removed his white shirt, and then as Spike tugged his undershirt off, ruffling Riley’s hair in the process.

Spike ran a palm over the smooth skin just above Riley’s waistband. Riley wiggled a bit as if he were considering moving away. “I, um…those extra pounds I put on after I hurt my leg…haven’t quite gotten rid of them yet.”

But Spike shook his head. “You’re lovely, pet.” And he meant it. He didn’t at all mind the small hint of softness over hard muscles. He stroked some more until Riley relaxed, and then Spike focused on the belt, undoing the buckle and then drawing the leather slowly out of the loops. He twisted the end of the belt in his fist, and Riley’s pupils grew very large, so that Spike again had to remind himself that now was the time for something simple.

Riley’s erection was tenting the front of his trousers, but Spike took care not to put too much pressure on Riley’s cock as he unbuttoned and unzipped. The trousers fell down, puddling at Riley’s feet. Spike pushed the navy-blue boxers down as well. Then, with a small smile to himself, he knelt on the polished wood floor. Riley looked down at him and made a sort of strangled noise.

Still keeping his movements gradual, Spike untied Riley’s shoes. He gently urged one foot upwards; Riley set a big, hot hand on Spike’s shoulder for balance as Spike removed his shoe and sock, and tugged the trouser and boxer legs off. Then they both shifted a bit so Spike could do the other leg. Spike stood up straight.

He wanted to take a few minutes to drink in the sight before him, all that bare skin just waiting for him. But Riley wrapped him in an embrace and kissed him, and that was lovely as well, the heat from the man sinking into Spike’s body, the taste of beer and buffalo wings on his tongue, his nostrils filled with the scents of Old Spice and Ivory soap and drugstore shampoo.

It was Riley who finally broke the kiss, and then he maneuvered Spike to the bed a bit awkwardly, so that they both fell onto the mattress, limbs tangling wonderfully. Spike’s cock fit nicely into the hollow of Riley’s hip, and Spike couldn’t help but thrust a few times as Riley clutched at his arse. 

“No, wait,” Riley said, going still. “I want, um….” He extricated himself somewhat from underneath Spike and reached for his bedside table. He opened the drawer and produced a small plastic bottle, which he held up sheepishly. “I thought maybe we could try….”

Spike grinned at him. “Might do. Top or bottom, pet?”

Riley blushed again and looked away. His innocence was delicious, as sweet as candy. “I kinda want to try, uh, bottom. If that’s okay with you.”

It most definitely was okay with Spike, who took the bottle of slick from Riley’s slightly trembling hand and placed his lips just over the shell of the man’s ear. “Roll on your belly, love.”

Riley scrambled to obey. He had his head pillowed in his arms, his eyes closed, but he’d kept his legs spread invitingly. Spike spent what felt like ages stroking here and there across the acres of skin that were laid out for him. Sometimes Spike nibbled as well, his blunt teeth not breaking the skin. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he carefully pushed a pillow under Riley’s hips and then positioned himself between the long, heavy legs.

“Spike, maybe we should—” Riley began, but then stopped abruptly as Spike bent and licked at the crevice in front of him. “Ohh,” Riley said, the word a drawn-out sigh.

Spike chuckled to himself. He used his hands to spread the heavy muscles of Riley’s buttocks and then licked again, this time at the tight, pinkish hole. Riley tasted clean, a bit salty and soapy, but with a pleasant, masculine musk as well. Spike delved in deeper with his tongue, loosening the tight ring and enjoying the breathy little groans his partner was making. When Spike could feel Riley moving, trying to hump himself slightly backward to meet the thrusts oftongue, Spike knelt up and uncapped the bottle.

Riley opened his eyes and peered over his shoulder.

“All right?” Spike asked him.

“Yeah. Definitely…yeah.”

That was all the invitation Spike needed. He drizzled some of the liquid onto Riley and set the bottle aside. When Spike inserted a slippery finger, he was pleased to note that Riley didn’t tense at all, and in fact tilted his arse up a bit more. “That’s lovely,” Spike said, smoothing his right hand over one cheek while he slipped a second finger inside. And when he crooked his fingers just so, Riley shuddered and grunted with surprise.

“Riley Finn, meet your prostate,” Spikesaid.

“Oh, God.”

Before too much longer, Riley was moaning and writhing, and his opening was softened and ready. Spike was more than ready himself. He poured a generous amount of slick on his palm and lubed his shaft, having to bite his lip hard over the sensation of friction on his aching cock.

When Spike touched the tip of his cock to Riley’s hole, Riley tensed again, the muscles of his back bunching and twitching. Spike wanted to just bury himself balls-deep, but he remained still and took a deep breath. “All right?” he asked again.

“Yeah. Do it.” Riley’s voice was slightly muffled by his arm.

“’T’s not meant to be an ordeal, pet. We can stop if you want. Wouldn’t mind switching places.”

Riley looked back at Spike again. His face relaxed into a smile and he wiggled his arse a bit. “No way. I want this. Please.”

The “please” nearly did Spike in. He nodded curtly and then, using every ounce of will to restrain himself, to move slowly, he pressed into the tight, warm channel. “Oh, God,” Riley repeated once Spike was fully seated, and Spike would have agreed, except he seemed to have lost the power of speech. It had been many, many decades since he’d been inside a man like this and the sensations were so exquisitely strong they were nearly painful.

“You can move now,” Riley said.

“If I move now, it’ll all be over,” Spike replied, his voice sounding choked.

“Yeah? What about that famous vampire stamina?”

“Propaganda,” Spike replied. They both laughed a bit, and that was enough to take him down from the edge so he really could move; and he did, rocking his hips slowly, dragging his cock almost all the way out and then pushing back in.

“Holy shit,” Riley moaned. Again, Spike was in full agreement.

Soon—sooner than Spike would have wanted, but he couldn’t hold back any longer—Spike sped his movements. There was a brief moment of readjustment as Riley gathered his knees beneath himself, allowing Spike an even deeper angle of penetration and allowing Riley to grab his own cock and begin to rapidly stroke. 

Little beads of sweat formed on Riley’s back, dripping down his skin. Without slowing his movements, Spike bent forward and licked a broad trail up Riley’s knobbly spine. That did it. Riley cried out and shuddered violently, his interior muscles clenching Spike tightly. Split seconds later, sweet fire coursed through Spike’s body and he shouted out his climax as well.

In the aftermath, Riley spooned himself around Spike, lazily stroking Spike’s belly and flank. Spike would not have admitted it out loud, but that was nearly as nice as the sex itself. He liked the feeling of the strong body behind him, big arms encircling him.

“Wow,” Riley breathed in his ear.

“You enjoyed?”

“We are _so_ gonna do that again.” Then Riley paused. “Um…was I…was I good?”

Spike managed to keep a straight face as he wiggled around to look into Riley’s earnest, insecure face. “You were brilliant, love. Better than I’d dreamed of.”

Riley smiled shyly and blushed again, and if Spike had been able to muster just a bit more energy he would have shagged the boy again, right then and there.

Instead they cuddled. Half-dozed, really, sometimes petting or tickling a bit at one another. Spike felt wonderful. But after a time, his sodding conscience began to nag at him. “Riley?”

“Hmm?”

“You ought to leave this place.”

Riley’s eyes flew open. “What?”

“Wolfram & Hart, I mean. It’s not…. You’re _good_ , Riley. A certified, all-American white hat. The Lone sodding Ranger. The bloody Stars and Stripes ought to wave whenever you enter a room. This place will corrupt you eventually. Get out. Stop shagging monsters. Get a proper job…selling cars or summat. Finish that PhD. Settle down with a little wife—or a little husband—and have some rugrats. Have a _life_ , Riley Finn.”

Riley sighed. “You’re not a monster. And I don’t know if I can. It’s been so long since things were normal….”

“You’re in your twenties, git,” Spike said with a snort. “Can’t have been that long. Me, I’ve been set in my ways for ages. You can still turn over a new leaf. Do something different.”

Riley sighed again and squeezed Spike tightly. “Thanks, Ann Landers.”

[The rest of the story....](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/274255.html)   



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike and Riley offer one another advice..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is for [](http://angelus2hot.livejournal.com/profile)[**angelus2hot**](http://angelus2hot.livejournal.com/)   for the [](http://nekid-spike.livejournal.com/profile)[**nekid_spike**](http://nekid-spike.livejournal.com/)  fic/art exchange, She wanted Spike/Riley or Spike/Angel (and here's some of both), with romance, fluff, or humor and without abuse, torture, or rape. This is a sequel to [The Job](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/156098.html) and [Defense Mechanisms](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/158738.html) but can be read on its own. It takes place during AtS S5, and Riley Finn has been hired to supervise security for Wolfram & Hart. Many thanks to my lovely beta, [](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/profile)[**silk_labyrinth**](http://silk-labyrinth.livejournal.com/)  , who also greatly improved the ending!

**The Situation (continued)**

Spike and Riley saw each other occasionally in the few weeks after that. Riley was still occupied with projects at work, and Spike kept himself busy writing, until the document was nearly a hundred thousand words in length. Every few days, however, they managed to meet for drinks and then they’d drive back to Riley’s place, where he was introduced to Spike’s prostate as well.

And then one afternoon in the office, Spike and Angel got into a fight. Afterwards, Spike couldn’t remember what it had been about; he would have wagered Angel didn’t know either. It was just more of the usual: a few snarky words, an insult or two, and then they were going at it, fists and fangs, until Angel’s office was in a shambles and they were both bloody and bruised.

Riley had come running when the fight began, along with a small contingent of his security staff. Perhaps Harmony or Mrs. Goularte had rung him. He and his men managed to break up the melee without getting too injured themselves. As Spike and Angel stood there, panting and embarrassed, Riley glared at them both. “Idiots,” he growled, and then left. Spike gave Angel a final snarl and left as well, but when he tried to catch up with Riley, the other man shook him off. “Go away, Spike.”

Spike brooded. His writing project was complete, so he spent several days slumped in his office chair, snarling at anyone who came near.

One afternoon as he sat there, waiting for the sun to set so he could go out and kill something, his door was flung violently open. Spike scrambled to his feet as Angel came stomping in. “What the hell is this?” Angel demanded, and threw something onto the desk.

It was a book. A thick paperback, in fact, with a dark red cover. The title was in black, in a big, Gothic font: _Memoires, Volume I_. Underneath that was the author’s name. Spike.

After gaping stupidly for a few moments, Spike snatched up the book and leafed through it. He recognized the words. They were _his_ words. Words with which he’d recounted his experiences from childhood all the way through the first twenty years of his demon existence. He’d left out most of the bloody bits—he still couldn’t comfortably face the memories of all the people he had murdered—but he had included the things he had seen, the adventures he'd had. The people he had loved.

“Where did you get this?” he yelled at Angel.

Angel yelled right back. “It was on my desk!” His voice dropped. “I thought you left it there.”

“I bloody well did not!”

“Oh. I thought…I thought it was some kind of joke.”

Spike held the book to his chest and glared. “It’s no joke!”

“But…but you really wrote it?”

“Of course I sodding wrote it! And when I get my hands on the wanker that stole it—”

“Those things you wrote about…um…stuff. People. Did you really mean them?”

The rage left Spike all at once. “You read it?” he asked, wincing.

“Yeah, I…. Yeah. So…did you? Mean them.”

Spike looked away. “Every word,” he replied softly.

“Oh.”

There was a long pause. When Spike looked back at Angel, his sire’s face was soft with wonder, as if he were seeing something amazing, something he had never expected to set eyes on. “It was good,” he finally said. “I liked it.”

“You like Barry Manilow,” Spike replied, but he couldn’t suppress the ridiculous grin that spread across his face.

“I think you got a few details wrong. Nothing important, just, that time in Krakow? I’m pretty sure there were ten soldiers, not eight.”

 “Perhaps,” Spike replied, shrugging slightly.

Angel chewed on his lip and then squared his shoulders. “Maybe…maybe we could go somewhere and, uh, talk about it?”

Spike’s smile grew. “Have a few drinks?”

“Why not?” Angel said, smiling back. Christ, he was beautiful when he smiled.

 

***

 

“How’d you do it, soldier boy?”

Riley looked up from his papers. “Hacked into your computer. You really should have better security.” Spike had never seen anyone look quite so smug.

“But…a book?”

“There’s lots of places out there where you can self-publish. Although I think you should consider finding a real publisher for it. Just tell them it’s a novel. You’ll outsell Ann Rice.”

“It was a scheming thing for you to do.”

“I guess I’ve been hanging out too long with the evil undead.” Bastard wasn’t the least repentant, Spike saw. “Anyway,” Riley added, “it turned out well. My sources tell me you’ve spent the past two nights up in the penthouse.”

Spike sputtered a bit before finding his voice. “It could have been a disaster. Angel could have—”

“Could have what, Spike? Really, could things have gotten much worse than the status quo? You were about two steps away from killing each other.”

Spike shook his head in defeat and collapsed into an armchair. That’s when he noticed the cardboard boxes piled in the corner. He raised an eyebrow.

Riley leaned back in his seat. “I’ve put in my two weeks’ notice.”

“Have you now?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking—maybe I’ll head back to the Midwest. Get a job selling Fords.” He smiled. “Settle down with someone.”

“Because of me and Angel? Because—”

“Because of me. You were right—I don’t belong here. Neither do you guys, actually. You should get a life, too.”

“Can’t,” Spike answered sadly. “Poof reckons some big battle’s on the horizon.”

Riley nodded. “Okay. Look, I’ve kinda gathered some information about Wolfram & Hart. One of the perks of being in charge of security. If this showdown does happen, well, I’ve got some info that may come in handy for you. You’ll let me know if you need it.”

“All right.”

“I’m not leaving for another couple of days. If it’s not gonna cause problems with you and Angel, maybe before I go we can go out for a couple of drinks? Maybe you have a few other problem situations I can fix before I leave.”

“You’re just like Freud and Dear Abby, all rolled up into one.”

Riley grinned. “I think I’d prefer to think of myself as the Lone Ranger.”

Spike nodded, eyes narrowed, considering. “You in a mask would be a treat, love. And then there's all that time in the saddle.”

“What say we hit the saloon, then have a ride?”

Spike rose from the chair with a smirk, looked Riley square in the eye, and—his voice roughened and deep—replied, “Hi ho, Silver.”

 

 _~~~fin~~~_

 


End file.
